‘We’re police officers,’ said Nash. ‘We just want to ask you some questions, about the murder.’
‘We won’t look,’ grinned Yardley.
‘We don’t know about any murder,’ cried one of the women shrilly. Judging by her position at the entrance to her bolthole, her modesty was preserved by most of her standing below ground level. The conical part, it seemed, was just a roof.
A dark shape pushed her aside and a huge man scrambled out. For a moment he appeared fur-clad, then they realised it was body hair. ‘Clear off, coppers,’ he shouted. ‘We don’t know anything about it, and if we did we wouldn’t tell you. Death to the Serpent!’
At this, all the men started chanting, ‘Death to the Serpent,’ while advancing threateningly upon them. One of them picked up a stone and hurled it.
The detectives made a dignified retreat.
Chapter Eight
‘You don’t want to see my aunt Sophie, do you?’ asked Caroline. ‘She won’t be able to tell you anything. She scarcely ever leaves her workshop.’
‘Not even for meals?’
‘Yes, for meals with the rest of us, and to harvest her willow, but that’s in the winter. She always has someone with her when she goes out — Grandma, or one of the weaving ladies usually. She’s inclined to panic if she finds herself alone outside. She’s a very nervous person.’
‘Was she at the birthday party?’
‘Yes, for a while.’
‘Then perhaps we could have a quick word. Why is she so nervous?’
‘I don’t know; she always has been. Would you mind if I stay with her while you talk to her?’
They paused at the furthest corner of the house where a gable wall and porch were hung with a variety of colourful baskets. Scattered around were wooden tubs and barrels with willow rods soaking in them. Sister Sophie, however, was not at home. She proved to be in her adjoining garden, planting new cuttings. As predicted, a young woman was weeding and tidying and keeping her company.
‘Could you just wait here a minute?’ said Caroline.
It was very quiet, as was all of Eden, and they could hear some of what was said. ‘They’re policemen from London about the murder . . . very nice, not like Diffey . . . rather good looking too.’
‘That’ll be me,’ averred Rattigan.
Felix eyed him suspiciously. ‘Have you noticed any other effects?’
‘What of?’
‘Eating that apple.’
Eventually she was persuaded to meet them. ‘How do you do, Sister, said Felix, shaking a surprisingly strong hand. ‘What a lovely job you have. Do you grow many varieties? You seem to have a good range of colours.’
‘I’ve ten I mostly use,’ she said, looking surprised, ‘and I’ve just acquired another. But I also use blackthorn and clematis and honeysuckle and briar and lots of things. Come and have a look.’
Sister Sophie somewhat resembled her niece, being small and compact in build but with the same suggestion of underlying energy. She wore the inevitable plaits, though in her case they were prematurely white and had the same strikingly blue eyes. She must, thought Felix, have been as pretty as Caroline when she was younger, but her features were set in what seemed a permanent expression of anxiety. Her workshop was a single-storey extension to the main house, the large room equipped with the tools and paraphernalia of the basketmaker’s art. Everything from shopping baskets to hampers and even small furniture sat waiting to be sold or brought into use by the commune. Her output, Felix thought, must be prodigious. An inner door, standing open, appeared to give straight onto a bedroom, its windows at the back of the house.
‘These are very good,’ Felix said, examining her stock. ‘They must be in great demand. Sister, I know you won’t be able to tell us much but we thought we should make your acquaintance. Can you cast any light on this murder — a chance remark, something of that sort?
Sister Sophie glanced at Caroline. ‘I haven’t really seen anyone except family, and Sister Abital, who is helping me today. She doesn’t say much so I don’t.’
Felix smiled. ‘Can you remember what you were doing on the night Joe Dutton was murdered?’
Sister Sophie looked rather helplessly again at her niece. ‘You ate with us,’ Caroline reminded her and then you watched the dancing for a while. What did you do then?’
‘I went to bed,’ said Sophie.
‘And you didn’t hear anything, after you went to bed?’ said Felix. ‘I’m only asking because you appear to sleep downstairs and were well placed to do so.’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, I didn’t hear anything. I was tired; I slept like a log.’
‘Did you like Joe Dutton?’
The change in Sister Sophie was as immediate as it was remarkable. She seemed almost to shrink in size. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, and pointedly snatched up a half-finished basket. The interview was at an end.
Caroline looked relieved that they’d left her aunt in peace. ‘You could interview Grandma next,’ she suggested. ‘She’ll be in the weaving room in the old stables. It’s that building over there. I’m going to see if Alice is back.’
‘Didn’t want to talk about Joe,’ said Rattigan. ‘Seemed frightened.’
‘Very much so,’ agreed Felix, ‘though she couldn’t have had much to do with him, I’d have thought, and then not for years. Perhaps she doesn’t get on with his mother. Chalk and cheese I should imagine.’
‘She doesn’t mind using metals for one thing. That was a lethal-looking knife she had on her workbench.’
‘Yes it was. Not much point dabbing it though.’
‘She might have seen or heard something that frightened her but how do you get someone like that to talk about it?’
‘I think we shouldn’t try unless we have to. No point antagonising the family at this stage, which it might. Caroline seemed very protective of her so they probably all are.’
They found the stable-block not much changed architecturally from its original purpose. The open-fronted stalls, each delineated by an arch, had been bricked up and internal walls knocked down to make a good-sized space, still betraying its origins with a concrete-patched stone floor and a cast-iron manger built into one corner. Dye vats sat against a wall, bolts of cloth lay on rough-hewn shelves and completed clothing lay folded or hanging on a wooden rail. Filling about half the room was a pair of weaving looms. Seeing them enter, a grey-haired woman smiled and detached herself from a group of others clustered around a cutting table. Tall, thin and indefinably patrician she could only be Gertrude Truscott, though there was little in her appearance to connect her with her youngest daughter, who no doubt took after her father.
She led them into an adjacent room stacked with roughly baled wool. Three spinning wheels sat companionably facing each other. ‘Do sit down,’ she said. ‘I won’t ask you to spin – it takes a little skill – but we can use the chairs. I knew you’d arrived, of course, but I thought I’d wait until you asked for me. My granddaughter is a very intelligent young woman and quite capable of looking after you. She’s one of our school teachers, you know, along with Alice.’
‘She’s been very helpful,’ said Felix. ‘I understand there is no official leader here, but that you were a co-founder of the commune.’
‘Yes. My husband and I came here in eighty-four with a few others. Since then we have waxed and waned in numbers but the founding principle remains the same.’
‘To live simply, hoping thereby to come closer to God?’
‘Yes, if you like; though I regret to say that God these days is often forgotten among a babel of competing dogmas. However, that’s of no interest to you. I’m sorry Alice isn’t here at the moment. She feels closest to Joseph at the spot where he died, and I can understand that. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. In the meantime, what can I tell you?’
‘It wou
ld seem that no-one witnessed Joe Dutton’s murder,’ said Felix, ‘so you’ll understand we need to interview as many people as we can. My sergeants are presently talking to members of the commune and so far I’ve seen Sister Clarice, Sister Caroline, Sister Sophie and Raymond Galbraith. May I confirm one or two things about you? Do you have just the two children?’
‘Mary and Sophie, yes. My son James died in the war; he was the eldest. We were hit hard here and it was never the same afterwards.’
‘You don’t approve of the new people?’
She gave the smallest of shrugs. ‘They must make of Eden what they will. It is not for me to impose my views on them.’
‘But you feel they’ve drifted from what you had in mind?’
Sister Gertrude smiled sadly. ‘I do wonder, you know, if God minds so very much if one uses a saucepan.’
Felix smiled back. ‘This may seem intrusive and you don’t have to answer, but who owns Eden? Whose name is it on the deeds?’
‘That is no secret — I do. My daughters will inherit it jointly.’
‘Do the other residents have no say in the matter?’
Sister Gertrude nodded sagely. ‘I can see what is in your mind, Chief Inspector. If we are a dynasty, it matters who marries into it. I must say, that hadn’t occurred to me. However, it would be rather long-term thinking. I am not dead yet, and my daughters are still quite young.’
‘They intend to carry it on, then?’
‘I’m sure they will.’
‘What about the house?’
‘We knew when we came here it wouldn’t last. When it becomes uninhabitable they will have to live as some of the others do. It will be an interesting challenge for them.’
‘Were you surprised that Alice chose Joe Dutton?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all. He held a fascination for her, even as a little child. She used to toddle about after him. Later they were inseparable. When he left us we hoped we’d seen the last of him. Alas, it was not to be.’
‘Not a suitable spouse for your granddaughter?’
‘He could be charming but he was a disruptive influence. He had no understanding of the spiritual and teased unmercifully those that had. Some people are made that way. That said, he was her choice and that should have been respected. It’s hard, you know, for youngsters here, girls particularly, to find partners in life.’
‘So you were prepared to give these two your blessing?’
‘I was and did. I even suggested they stay here until Alice was twenty-one; which, no doubt, would have set the cat among the pigeons. She is an adult by our rules but not, of course, in law, and might have faced resistence from her parents before then. Mary was appalled that I should encourage them, as she termed it, but I have a right to my views, just as she has. I hope she will at least see how much she loved him and support her in her grief.’ She glanced out the window. ‘Here is Caroline. No doubt they are back.’
‘Just one thing, Sister Gertrude,’ said Felix, rising. ‘Do you think Raymond Galbraith killed Joe Dutton.’
Sister Gertrude was silent for a moment. ‘He does seem a rather unlikely sort of murderer. We gladly made Raymond and Clive welcome here for the girls’ sake; not without some opposition, I must say. I hope we didn’t clasp a viper to our bosom. One serpent is enough for any Eden.’
Caroline appeared. ‘They’re back now,’ she said. ‘My mother would like to see you first, Chief Inspector.’
Unlike Sister Sophie, Mary Stickland was more recognisably Gertrude’s daughter. She was still an attractive woman, looking more like thirty than the forty they knew her to be. She wore the usual woollen frock and moccasin-like homemade boots and was carrying one of her sister’s baskets. It was covered with a cloth, perhaps suggesting she’d been making purchases frowned upon in Eden. Her rich brown hair, worn loose, was dishevelled by the sea breeze and her neck and face were presently an unbecoming blotchy pink. Felix inferred nervousness at their unheralded arrival, or it might have been the steep climb up from the village. It turned out to be sheer bad temper.
‘I’m sorry we missed you, Chief inspector,’ she said, with sour politeness. ‘I’m Sister Mary. How do you do?’
‘How do you do, Sister? Please don’t apologise. We had no way to warn you we were coming, unfortunately. I understand you’ve been to the beach?’
‘Yes, we have.’ She ushered them swiftly into the house by a back door as if to hide them from sight. ‘This is our private sitting room. We shan’t be disturbed here.’
Unlike Sister Clarice’s eccentric accommodation, the Sticklands’ apartment contained ordinary, if old-fashioned, furniture. Judging by its style, it had arrived with her parents, or perhaps they’d bought the house furnished. Crude but bright paintings on what appeared to be clay tiles and some eccentrically shaped vases made a strange contrast with Victorian mahogany and worn flock wallpaper. ‘The pots are my husband’s,’ said Mary, with a hint of apology. ‘The paintings are mine, of course.’
‘Very nice,’ said Felix. ‘Sister Mary, before we meet your daughter, perhaps we can have your own statement regarding last Saturday night. Sergeant Rattigan will take notes and type them up and if you are happy with it we’ll get you to sign it. We may have to come back to you later, of course.’
Mary gestured to them to sit down. ‘You can have mine gladly, Chief Inspector, but I’d prefer you don’t see Alice today. She’s somewhat overwrought, and scarcely fit to answer questions. She’s presently lying down.’
‘Well let’s have your own account anyway,’ said Felix, sensing trouble in that direction. ‘I understand that on the night in question, Mr Joseph Dutton arrived unexpectedly at your mother’s birthday party.’
‘Thereby ruining it for her! Yes he did.’
‘What happened then?
‘Alice announced to all and sundry that they were engaged, which was ridiculous; we hadn’t even seen him for years.’
‘Had your daughter not seen him herself, during that time?’
‘Not to our knowledge, no.’
‘May I take it you didn’t approve of this liaison?’
‘We certainly did not. He was a most tiresome young man when he lived here and wouldn’t have been suitable for her at all. Then he had the temerity to ask if he might marry her immediately! Naturally we refused.’
‘What happened then?’
‘My mother took them into her rooms and we didn’t see them again. It was in the middle of the party, to which we felt obliged to return. We had a houseful of guests and had to get through it somehow. Goodness knows what people must have thought. Next morning Alice reported the fellow missing and my husband reluctantly went searching for him. He didn’t find him, of course. Shortly after that he was discovered dead on the beach.’
‘He was actually found dying on the beach,’ corrected Felix. ‘Did he stay the night here?’
‘Not with us. According to Alice he slept in his van. I understand he’d been living in it. No doubt he expected her to live in it.’
‘So you saw nothing further of him after this confrontation during the party?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone?’
‘I don’t believe so.’
‘Except the murderer presumably.’
‘One assumes so. It’s been a most unpleasant and unnecessary interlude, Chief Inspector, and I’m sorry but I’m very annoyed about it.’
Felix glanced at Rattigan. ‘You’re annoyed about it? Mrs Stickland, a man has been viciously done to death. If I may say so your response to that is rather irregular to say the least.’
‘Well I can’t help that,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve had my child weeping and wailing for a solid week and I’m sick of it. He was nothing but a nuisance when he was here and he’s still a nuisance now. Oh, hello darling. I though you were lying down.’
‘Ob
viously,’ said Alice.
Grief had broken Alice Stickland but not diminished her; she received them with dignity, shaking them both by the hand. One could imagine that a week ago she’d been a pretty young woman, even a beautiful one, but she was now stick thin and her face so ravaged that it was painful to look at her. She was some inches taller than Caroline retaining the Truscott blue eyes but with fair hair, presently lank and unwashed and caught up in bunches.
‘It’s very good of you to meet us, Sister Alice,’ said Felix. ‘If you feel able to give us a statement it would be very useful but if not, you must say so.’
Alice glanced balefully at her mother. ‘Yes, I’ll give you a statement. Mother, I wish to speak to these officers on my own if you don’t mind. Do sit down, gentlemen.’
With an obvious effort, Mary Stickland managed to suppress her anger. ‘I really think I should be here, darling,’ she said, ‘you may need me. Unless you’d prefer your father.’ She looked at the two officers. ‘She’s only nineteen, you know.’
‘The age of wisdom, Mother! Don’t you think I qualify?’
An interesting range of emotions played across the older woman’s face. ‘I’ll be near if you want me,’ she snapped.
Felix waited for her to leave. ‘Now then, Miss Stickland,’ he said kindly. ‘We have your age. May we have your full name?’
‘It’s Alice Irene.’
‘And this is presently your address?’
She nodded. ‘Presently, yes. I shan’t be staying.’
‘Thank you. I’ll try to be as brief as I can. Where are you planning to go, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Somewhere else. I hate this place.’
‘I see. Now first of all, do you have any idea who might have done this dreadful thing?’
She shook her head. ‘My mother will tell you, if she hasn’t already, that it was a member of the commune.’
‘Does that seem likely?’
‘Some of them hated him certainly, though I don’t know why they’d wish to kill him. He didn’t live here any more and had no intention of returning.’
Death of a Serpent (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 8) Page 6
